


New Tricks

by littlehollyleaf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelcest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehollyleaf/pseuds/littlehollyleaf
Summary: When Balthazar runs into an archangel on a night out he fears the worst. Fortunately (or maybe not) for him, Gabriel has something else in mind...





	

**New Tricks**

 

"Haven't you had enough, grandpa?"

Balthazar glares at the pimpled youth behind the bar, diving deep into the boy's pathetic excuse for a mind, past the continual flickers of lust and self-loathing and right to the heart of him.

"If your father chose to drink himself to an early grave that's hardly a good enough reason to suppose the rest of us are equally weak-willed," he states, sliding his empty glass forward without once dropping his gaze. "Now another, if you please. Filled to the brim this time."

The boy stares at him, startled, then drops his head, cheeks flushing as he grips the glass with quiet 'sure, yeah...'

He returns it moments later without a word, dark amber liquid dripping down the sides where his over generous portion has overflowed.

Balthazar lifts it to the patchy, multicoloured string of lights strewn above and behind the bar, admiring the reflections across the drink and the quiet tinkle of ice inside. A simple pleasure. Unlike the rest of the club, which is neither simple nor pleasurable, full as it is with too many pyrotechnics, crushing bodies and blaring noise the patrons insist on terming 'music.'

It had been a mistake to come here, he knows that. There's not a single person older than twenty-six in the whole place, including the staff, which left him far too out of place. Far too noticeable and exposed.

Not that his vessel's ancient... exactly... simply what he's come to think of as 'getting on in years.' He'd chosen the man in part for that very reason, thinking the age would give him some gravitas. But such a concept is entirely foreign in these types of places, he's fast come to learn, with the youngsters pulsing round him more likely to consider an older man drinking alone as 'past his prime.'

Still, now he's here, wings spread out wide across the seats either side of him, gently urging anyone venturing too close to piss off if you don't mind, he's loathe to leave the space he's expended so much effort to acquire.

Besides, the unfamiliar, bordering on uncomfortable, environment might be just what he needs to distract from... recent events.

It's intolerable, really, how much he's dwelling on this. How his fingers itch to squeeze around Dean Winchester's neck, draining the breath from him one splutter and choke at a time until every last drop of unwitting power the ape holds over Castiel is gone.

The only thing stopping him is the backlash he knows he'll get from Cas if he tries.

It's absurd, it really is. Castiel was the best of them. A stickler for the rules. Loyal to a fault. And yet, despite all that, it turns out the rumours were true - it's _sentimentality_ that proved his downfall. Twice now, and with a third well on the way.

And sentiment towards a _human_ at that.

Ludicrous...

Balthazar draws the drink to his lips and gulps half of it away. Ten dozen or so more and it might actually start to have an effect.

"Lighten up, pal. You look like the world's about to end."

Balthazar actually starts at the cheery voice and turns to the figure beside him in surprise. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him this man has somehow managed to ease his right wing away and sit on the stall it was covering without Balthazar noticing any of it, which is... curious.

Yet the man himself couldn't be less remarkable.

He's short. Dark haired. Casual attire. Although the latter _is_ fairly notable here, Balthazar supposes, with most of the dancers and such dressed to the nines in tight fitting fabrics and painful looking shoes. Instead, this man wears scuffed trainers, or 'tennis shoes,' as Balthazar has sometimes heard them described, contrary to the language of his vessel; comfortable, worn down jeans; a loose maroon shirt and a coat of dull green. Not quite as slick as the buckled-up pants, grey vest and velvet jacket Balthazar inherited with his vessel, and has since grown inordinately fond of, but nevertheless he feels the other's outfit has merit. It's a contrast to the sheep's clothing of the rest of the herd, if nothing else, which is to be admired.

Still, even if this man _is_ less distasteful than most, he remains of little interest.

Balthazar carefully tucks his wings away to prevent any other apes happening to stumble past them and gives the newcomer a polite nod.

"Quite the opposite, actually," he answers, turning back to his glass.

This should be the end of the matter, but it seems the fool wishes to prattle.

"What's their name?"

Balthazar glances back with a sigh, reminding himself he needs to keep up a pretence of human socialising if he wants to stay under Raphael's radar.

"I'm sorry?" he queries.

The other gestures towards him with a hand that has somehow acquired a frosted glass bottle topped with neon yellow straw and floral cocktail umbrella. Strange, Balthazar hadn't noticed him place an order. The brand is one he doesn't recognise, something black and sparkling with a red and blue circular logo on the label, and yet he thought he'd catalogued all the beverages this establishment had to offer on arrival. Another fault of his wondering mind.

"Come _on_. Burn that torch any brighter and you'll be on fire," the man shrugs, slipping the straw between his lips and grinning round the plastic.

While idiotic, the look is not without a certain charm, and Balthazar finds his own lips quirking back.

"So who's your Romeo?" the other presses as he slurps, shameless rather than sympathetic. And either insulting or strikingly perceptive in his casting of Balthazar as Juliet.

But Balthazar appreciates the honesty, a rare thing among humans, and thinks why not? Nothing else is working, so he might as well try spilling his troubles to a stranger. If the conversation lasts long enough he might even be able to fleece a soul out of it.

He allows a smile and nod.

"Cas, is the name," he answers.

A light spray of sugary liquid in his face is hardly the response he's expecting, nor the bark of laughter that follows.

"Huh. Figures..." the man mutters and Balthazar frowns.

"What conclusion could you possibly have drawn from that?" he asks, wiping his face, interest in this endevour fading rapidly as it seems this man may be more inebriated than he thought.

The other shakes his head, smiling his mirth down at the wooden surface of the bar.

"Oh, nothing just..." He looks up and straight ahead, eyes flicking to their reflections in the mirror opposite, partly obscured by the stacks of upturned spirits and empty glasses there. "I got a brother called Cas." He holds for a moment, lost in the amber flecks of the gaze mirrored back to him in the glass. Then he drops his head and focuses on swirling his straw round the half-full bottle instead, making tiny, off-white bubbles fizz up the sides. "A good guy... but he's a sanctimonious little prick sometimes as well. And if you're not the one he's making eyes at, you can forget about him giving a damn, that's for sure..."

Balthazar pushes his glass away, eyes narrowing at the stranger. An unnoticed appearance might have been a fluke, but this... this is something else. More than mere perception.

"The situation does sound... somewhat similar..." Balthazar says, choosing his words carefully as he looks the man over again, trying to sense where the uncanny knowledge might have sprung from.

The man pouts at his drink for a moment, then shrugs.

"Ah, well." He looks up with another goofy grin and leans over to put an arm round Balthazar's shoulders. "Cheer up, kid. Plenty more stars in the sky, right?"

He uses his other hand to pat Balthazar's chest. The gesture is hardly malicious, but Balthazar tenses anyway, suddenly far from certain what he's facing here.

"Kid?" he repeats, testing the water. "I would have thought I'm considerably your elder."

The other's grin deepens, chocolate-brown eyes turning sharp.

He leans closer, breath hot against Balthazar's ear. It smells sweet.

"No, Bal," he says, the familiarity turning Balthazar cold. "You're really not."

When he pulls away his eyes don't meet Balthazar's. Instead they turn back to the mirror and Balthazar follows the gaze in time to see a dark shadow spreading out behind the other, covering the pulsing bodies on the dance floor in semi-darkness. It holds long enough for the dancers to stop and look about, murmuring in confusion, then vanishes in a blink, restoring the club to its customary garish flicker of colour.

The rest of the place shrugs and carries on as before. But Balthazar doesn't move.

He knows an archangel's wings when he sees them. And even if he didn't, there's enough residual grace humming through the air as a result of the display to clue him in, a name threaded in the power he hasn't heard for centuries.

At one time it might have been a joy to hear news of Heaven's lost brother.

But not anymore.

"Let's ditch this dive, huh?" Gabriel shrugs, reaching a hand to Balthazar's unfinished scotch and downing it in one. He smacks his lips as he returns the glass, chair scraping back, and Balthazar surreptitiously slips a hand in his jacket pocket, holding ready as the archangel's hand moves down between his shoulder blades.

But all Gabriel does is step away and nod at him.

"Follow me."

Gabriel turns without another word and pushes through the crowd, cutting a path to the exit.

Balthazar thinks about running, but knows it would be pointless. Chances are Gabriel has a whole garrison waiting outside and any attempt to escape would lead right into them. No. Better to face his fate with as much dignity, and defiance, as he can muster.

So he follows quietly, fingers curling tighter round the stone in his pocket as he watches the archangel slip out a side door into the darkness beyond.

He holds the stone in front of him, careful not to look at it, as he steps through the doorway. With a bit of luck he'll take out two or three before they realise to stop him.

Except -

"Whoa!"

One hand grabs his arm just above the elbow, forcing it down, while another palm blocks the rock from sight and wrestles it from him. Gabriel had been waiting to the side of the door, not in front of it.

Oh well. Worth a try.

Balthazar holds still, waiting for a flurry of brothers and sisters to descend on him.

But there's nothing. In fact, once Gabriel has the stone from him, Balthazar is released and left to his own devices, tottering back against the closing door, its thick, metal handle jabbing the base of his spine.

He blinks and looks round. They're in the alley at the side of the building, a small, neon light above the door and the promise of streetlamps somewhere beyond the end of the narrow stretch a few feet away the only illumination in the gloom. But even so, such darkness could not hide a barrage of angels.

They're alone.

"Nice trinket," Gabriel comments, waving his hand, which is fisted tight round the stone.

Balthazar flinches back, wondering if his brother intends to turn the weapon against him. He feels a stab of regret for his vessel if so. Not that he's formed any kind of relationship with the man - Keith is it? Or Kurt? - but the human shell has been the means of a great deal of self-discovery and it strikes him that it would be a shame for it to come to such an ignoble end.

"Ground zero at Sodom and Gomorrah, right?" the archangel continues, strangely flippant in his description of one of Heaven's deadlier weapons. "You ought to be more careful. This could hurt someone."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, but as reprimands go it's somewhat lacking. Especially with the smile, hovering about his lips like bees on a foxglove.

Nevertheless, the crunch of Gabriel's fist, followed by the trickle of dust between his fingers that he brushes idly down the side of his jacket is a suitably impressive display of power. Balthazar wishes he'd brought more than one weapon with him now and not been so arrogant as to think the stone would be enough to protect him a second time.

"Did you really think I'd let you take me without a fight?" he says, stalling for time in the hope he will find another means of escape. Now he knows Gabriel, for whatever reason, _has_ decided to engage him alone there may still be a chance.

"Take you...?" Gabriel repeats.

"That is why Raphael sent you, isn't it?" Balthazar presses.

Gabriel laughs. Full on, shoulder-shaking amusement.

"You think I'm working for _Raffles?_ "

This response doesn't make much sense, so Balthazar ignores it.

"Why else would you be here?" he counters. "I don't know where you've been hiding all this time, or why, but you archangels, you always stick together. Never have time for the rest of us. Of course you'd be on Raphael's side in this and I know for a fact he wants me dead. Once he's interrogated me, of course."

Gabriel's smile drops, hard, and for a second he looks almost contrite, black lines smudging the skin between his eyebrows. Then he shakes the look away and his mouth quirks up to the side.

But it's different this time, a grin that doesn't meet his eyes, devoid of the mirth he'd shown before.

"Yeah, we always stick together," he mutters back dryly. "I mean, how else did Lucifer get stuck down that hole, right?"

His shoulders slump and the familiar gesture changes everything, removes, almost literally, the 'arch' from the angel and drops him down to something Balthazar can relate to, the same picture of despondency he suspects he must have cut at the bar. It's a shocking thing, unprecedented, and leaves Balthazar restless and uncomfortable, uncertain of his skin or, worse than that - uneasy _beyond_ his vessel. He has a sudden urge to stretch and preen his wings just to make sure they're still there, that they're still his. Because the idea of a superior, of an _archangel,_ standing there like an equal is too much to comprehend. Surely if Gabriel has been brought so low, Balthazar must be made to drop further, so the distance between them remains intact?

"You got it all wrong, kid," Gabriel continues, voice softer, less animated. "I skipped out on Michael and I said 'no' to Lucy." One hands rubs unconsciously across his chest. "You really think I'm gonna pledge my allegiance to the next up-and-comer just cos we have matching club cards? Forget it. Raphael can bite me."

Balthazar gapes. Did he really just say -?

"And kill you?" Gabriel continues, incredulous, a spark returning to his voice. "No way! Why would I kill you? I've been watching you for a while, Bal, and I gotta say I'm impressed. _Finally_ one of the fam with some smarts!" He waves a hand up and down Balthazar, a glint of something very much like pride in his eyes. "You got out," he nods in approval, stepping closer to run both hands down either side of Balthazar's collar, thumbs and fingertips circling the corners. Balthazar is too perplexed to think of moving away. "You got style..." Gabriel continues, then stops for a moment to bob his head, lips twisting. "Okay, so it needs work," he adds. "I mean, a frog in the throat?" He flicks his eyes to Balthazar's, lips flattening in what appears to be sympathy. "It's good, but it's old..." He lifts a shoulder, like he's apologising for the criticism. Then steps back and slaps Balthazar on the shoulder. It's not hard, more like an attempt at being companionable, but it's unexpected enough to make the younger angel flinch anyway. "Still, your heart's in the right place, and that's something."

Gabriel nods again, eyeing his brother up and down like a sculptor might a cut of marble.

"I don't understand," Balthazar says. Because he doesn't. "You're saying... you're not here to capture me?"

Gabriel meets his gaze, grins properly this time and makes a negative noise. It reminds Balthazar of the human entertainment he'd learnt to call a 'gameshow,' back when he'd thought television might hold some value and spent a great deal of time trying to familiarise himself with it.

"Wrong question," the archangel continues. "The _real_ question," he adds, stepping closer again. "Is - your place or mine?"

Balthazar's eyebrows fold down the exact moment Gabriel flicks one up.

There's a pause, then Gabriel presses on.

"You know what? My place is a mess." He grips Balthazar's shoulder in one hand and lifts his other between them. "We'll take yours."

His fingers snap together and the world around them arranges itself into a familiar penthouse.

Balthazar can only stare as his unexpected companion steps away and looks around, a hum in the back of his throat pitched somewhere between amusement and admiration.

The younger angel tenses as Gabriel runs a hand along the grand piano in the corner, but the instrument is quickly dismissed in favour of the disco ball hanging from the ceiling. The objects are not the same as the ones Balthazar had been forced to leave behind in the mansion discovered by Raphael, but he'd found he rather missed them after a while and had them replicated. Why not, after all?

With another grin and a twist of his hand Gabriel dims the lights and sets the ball spinning, showering the place in tiny white spots and swirls. They make his expression patchy and unreadable when he turns round.

"Nice digs," he smiles.

"This place is warded," Balthazar replies, dull with shock. "And protected by so many spells I lost count. How could you possibly have found it?"

Gabriel's grin snakes into something dark and mischievous.

"I got ways," he answers. "You couldn't even imagine. You've heard of that saying, right? About old dogs and tricks?"

Balthazar nods, eyebrows drawing together again, except this time something inside him is coiling with anticipation as well. Because, if Gabriel _did_ mean him harm, surely he'd have tried something already? And that smile _does_ seem wonderfully familiar. Enticing. And erotic.

"All crap," Gabriel continues, waving a hand dismissively. "I have learnt _so much_ since leaving home. There are tricks I could show you like you wouldn't believe."

White spots keep spinning slowly around and across them, dreamy and hypnotic.

"What kind of tricks?" Balthazar asks.

The words have barely left his mouth when, without warning, Balthazar finds himself slammed into the headboard of the bed against the far wall, the heavy weight of an archangel across his thighs. It's the closest he's ever been to that much power and the feel of it leaves him what he expects humans would call breathless, grace so overpowered Balthazar feels disconnected and out of touch with himself.

Gabriel places both hands either side of his head and leans forward.

"All kinds," he whispers. "Wanna see?"

Balthazar is speechless, but only for a moment. As soon as he feels his own power returning, bleeding through his vessel in a prickly trickle that reminds him of complaints of 'pins and needles' from his human partners, he bursts out laughing. There may be an edge of hysteria to it somewhere, but Balthazar uses the pride gained by the way he's made Gabriel pull back, half frowning, to block it out.

"I'm sorry," he says as the laughter dies down, shaking his head to clear it. "There must be some mistake. See, I thought you were the Archangel Gabriel. Divine Messenger and Agent of Justice."

His brother's frown rights itself, eyes gleaming, and something inside Balthazar swells. He's come to enjoy mocking others immensely over the past year, revelling in the freedom to criticise after a lifetime of praise. But he's never had someone _appreciate_ it before.

"Sometimes," Gabriel responds, joining in. "Maybe on Thursdays. Today's Friday though, so -"

He doesn't know why he does it. As an idea it's sheer madness, and to execute it borders on suicidal. But the lights are still spinning around them, circling closer and closer and closer, and Gabriel _hadn't_ come to kill him, and, truth be told, meeting up with and losing Castiel again in one fell swoop hadn't just fostered an intense dislike of Dean Winchester in Balthazar, it had also exposed some hard truths about his life on the run. It was a free life, yes, decadent and succulent and glorious. But sometimes, an empty one too. And always alone.

Besides, Balthazar thinks, as he surges forward to stop Gabriel's mouth with his own, with the threat of Raphael and his followers already at his back, stealing a kiss from an archangel surely can't make things any _worse_?

Gabriel's last words are muffled round Balthazar's lips and lost down his throat and once they're gone Balthazar tries for more, swiping at the ridge of Gabriel's teeth and sucking his brother's tongue, hands moving to cup Gabriel's face so he can draw him nearer.

The archangel's mouth is slick and hot and tastes of sugar, from his drink at the bar - velvety sweet - and he doesn't resist. Doesn't even hesitate. He's kissing back with abandon so fast it's soon Balthazar who's struggling to keep up, fingers scraping into the fluffy, unruly mass of Gabriel's hair more for purchase than guidance, body turning soft and pliant from the heat of it and practically swooning into Gabriel's arms when the archangel's hands stroke around his waist and tug him forward, a feather-light brush of wings at the back of his neck.

Refusing to be bested, Balthazar tries his hardest to give as good as he gets, determined not to be the first to pull away, even if it kills him. He'd taken on Raphael and won, hadn't he? He can match this archangel too.

Even if the blending of their grace is starting to smother him, dulling Balthazar's connection to his true self in the same way a tourniquet cuts off circulation of the blood. Even if he's being compressed so tight inside his vessel it's making him light-headed and giddy. Even then.

He tries not to show how much of a relief it is when Gabriel finally releases him, breaking the connection with a chuckle and static snap of power and pulling Balthazar's hands off him and into his lap.

"Where'd you learn to kiss like that?" Gabriel asks as Balthazar works frantically at gathering his scattered grace back together, all the while trying to school his expression into something cool and collected, like the sudden passion hasn't effected him any more than his partner.

"There's this charming little place in Paris," he answers, with barely a gasp. Although his desire not to hesitate causes him to overcompensate, rushing his words together in a babbling stream. "A bit ridiculous really, upstairs fashioned like an elephant of all things. But the people there were _very_ accommodating."

Gabriel laughs and the sound is almost tangible, trickling hot and slow through the younger angel's borrowed veins, like melted chocolate.

"So that's it, huh?" the archangel smiles. "A couple of nights at the Moulin Rouge and you think you're the next Casanova?"

Balthazar's smile back feels as inevitable as a rising tide.

"What's a Casanova?"

Gabriel's lips quirk higher and he reaches forward to trace a thumb along the curve of Balthazar's mouth. So easy. The touch and the feel of it so completely _natural_ to him. So unlike Castiel's weary, nervous distance.

"Wow," Gabriel breathes. "You are _so_ like I was when I first got here. The world at your feet. Thinking you know everything. Trust me kid, you got a lot to learn."

"So teach me," Balthazar dares back against the rough whorls of the other's skin. He's bold now, as opposed to reckless, since his initial gamble seems to have paid off, caught in a kind of invincible, dreamlike state, in which everything seems certain to play out for the best.

Gabriel holds still, eyes flicking Balthazar up and down. He latches onto the younger angel's hands in his lap and grips them tighter.

"Sure..." Gabriel mutters, drawing Balthazar's arms above his head by the wrists and pressing them against the velvet of the headboard.

His eyes glint with mischief as they meet his brother's and also, just before he turns away, something darker, something dangerous, wild and ineffable. A spark of fear licks at Balthazar's belly. A flicker of uncertainty.

Then Gabriel frees a hand to snap up a couple of handcuffs and the flicker is gone.

The archangel quirks an eyebrow, spots of light twinkling like stardust on and off the metal rings as they dangle from his finger. The lower parts circle round each other as they swing, each twist building something up deep inside of Balthazar, like a clockwork key turning and turning again, drawing out his excitement a bit at a time.

"Tried this before?" Gabriel asks, taking the cuffs in both hands and leaning forward to snap the ring of one round Balthazar's left wrist before he can object.

Balthazar dips his head back to see what his brother has planned next and finds himself not in the least surprised to see his luxury headboard changed to an elaborate black twisty thing, all shiny and metallic, intricately knotted and curved.

"Of course," he answers, as Gabriel clicks the other half of the handcuff round one of the twists, then crosses Balthazar's other arm over his first and repeats the process with the second set of cuffs. "Not really much of thrill for us, naturally," Balthazar continues, trying to sound worldly and nonchalant. Just because he's submissive here, the disciple to Gabriel's teachings, there's no reason for the archangel to think him a complete novice in these matters. "Human metal is hardly capable of holding an angel."

Gabriel draws his hands down Balthazar's captured wrists and a little further, pushing up the sleeves of Balthazar's jacket so his palms rub the skin beneath. He leans forward and whispers, breath like a whirlwind in Balthazar's ear.

"These aren't human." He winks as he pulls away. "New tricks. Remember?"

Dropping his head back, Balthazar stares at the rings, curious. He tugs, lightly at first then harder, in experiment, and is thrilled to find himself well and truly bound. _Fascinating!_

He turns his head back with a grin, ready to congratulate his brother's skill, only to find Gabriel has left the bed and is staring away, deep in contemplation. He seems to be staring at the piano, but Balthazar dismisses this as paranoia.

"What now?" he asks.

Gabriel wrenches his gaze back, a couple of fingers stroking his bottom lip, and for a dark, icy moment Balthazar thinks the archangel must have forgotten about him, despite the attention he's been lavishing. Then a new curve of his lips transforms Gabriel's face into the image of Balthazar's own.

"Well, this for starters."

Gabriel clicks his fingers and every shred of Balthazar's clothing disappears.

Balthazar smiles, unashamed, as his brother looks him over. This is just as vessel after all. Naked or clothed - it's of no consequence to him.

Although, a lack of clothes _is_ preferable here, of course, in so much as it allows greater ease for the depravities Balthazar very much hopes Gabriel is planning. The archangel undressing would be the next logical step, except Gabriel doesn't seem to be obliging.

"This seems to put me at something of a disadvantage," Balthazar prompts.

Gabriel chuckles, low, like a wild cat before it pounces. And indeed, his brother has a distinct element of the feline about him as he bends forward, pressing both palms flat and heavy into the fluffy black and white squares of duvet either side of Balthazar's ankles, baring his teeth as he smiles, breath warm and wet and close enough to make Balthazar's vessel swell, blood rushing down, prickly and impatient.

"You're really not getting this yet, are you?" Gabriel murmurs, pressing up and away and _turning his back_.

Irritated, Balthazar jerks forward, forgetting his restraints as he tries to grab the retreating angel. He doesn't get far - the cuffs hold him firmly in place, biting his skin and bruising the flesh as his wrists snag against them. The pain is not much, but the shock of it makes Balthazar cry out.

Another chuckle echoes the sound and Balthazar's fear creeps in again, the truth of the situation hitting him for the first time. He is utterly at Gabriel's mercy here. What was he thinking?

Snap. The disco ball stops spinning.

Snap. The lights change to an even dim.

Snap. Gabriel's naked skin glows pale pink at the end of the bed.

Balthazar rakes his gaze over his brother's broad shoulders and tight arse. Ah yes. That's what he was thinking. Of all the sins he's tried so far, those of the flesh are undoubtedly his favourite.

Snap. The cover over the piano keys slides up and the instrument begins to play. A cheerful melody, soft and light-hearted.

Gabriel bobs his head in time with the music as he turns, an elegant martini glass at his lips housing a clear, sparkling liquid and a bright red cherry on a cocktail stick.

"What's the tune? Jazz?" Balthazar tries, hoping to impress with his knowledge of human culture.

"Sort of, yeah," Gabriel nods, lifting an eyebrow, lazily impressed, and happiness bubbles up, dousing the remains of Balthazar's panic.

He tries to at least fight the smile, recognising his response for the conditioning it is - a remnant need, the desire for praise from a commanding officer - but he fails.

"I had you pegged for more of a rock'n'roll kind of guy," Gabriel continues, sauntering forward.

With a dexterity Balthazar wouldn't have thought possible with such a small vessel, his brother crawls up the bed and onto his lap, succeeding not only in balancing his drink so perfectly that not a single drop is lost, but also in arranging himself tantalisingly close to Balthazar's hardening cock without giving even the whisper of a touch to it at all.

This makes Gabriel's own, proud and jutting and a hair's breath away, even more appealing because if it were _just a little closer_... A glorious ache starts to pulse in Balthazar's abdomen, promising the sharp rise and exhilarating fall he's grown so fond of, if Gabriel would just move _a little_ closer, give him just _a little_ friction...

"Anything Goes," Gabriel purrs, and the follow-up is the only thing that tells Balthazar he's not speaking philosophically. "Cole Porter. Nice guy. But then, I'm biased. I had a, you could say, 'vested interest,' back in the day..."

He takes a generous sip of his drink, the smile round his glass turning nostalgic, eyes glazed and distant with the memory, and Balthazar's lust shrinks back for a moment as something clicks into place.

"Back in the day..." he repeats. "My god. This is where you've been all this time. Not lost. Not hidden. Just... here." He shakes his head. It's too good to be true, surely? He can't believe it. "We grieved for you in Heaven. But it was all a lie, you..."

Gabriel draws the stick from his glass and sucks dripping liquor off the cherry, lips as red and swollen as the fruit itself. This proves distracting enough to lead Balthazar into silence.

"Oh, Bal," Gabriel says, sighing fondly. He leans forward - _close, so close!_ \- glass in one hand, cherry in the other, and breathes across Balthazar's cheek, the puff of air substantial as any caress. "Did you really think you were the first?"

He brings the fruit between them, slides it off the stick with his teeth, and kisses it whole into Balthazar's mouth.

The cherry is altered from its natural state, sticky with syrup so it clings to Balthazar's teeth as he chews. But he pays this no heed. Too busy beaming his delight into Gabriel's mouth, slicking the sugary flesh across the archangel's tongue so they can share. Because it _is_ true. Gabriel is no secret weapon, no hidden member of the inner circle toying with his prey. Good god, if anything he is closer to a kindred spirit.

Excited by the realisation Balthazar tries again to reach out. He is, again, held back, hissing and flinching as sharp metal scrapes already tender skin.

Gabriel hums more laughter, glass and cocktail stick melting into nothing as his arms stretch forward. His thumbs press firmly into Balthazar's wrists below the cuffs and the lightly bruising skin smoothes out, blemishes healing before they've even begun to form.

"Look at you," Gabriel mutters. "So eager -"

He cuts off as he meets Balthazar's no doubt burning by now, if not fevered, gaze, something flashing in his own. Another memory? Recognition?

"Of course you are," the archangel continues, as much to himself as to Balthazar. "You're fresh out of the convent..." He trails a finger down the side of Balthazar's face, nail scratching through the stubble at his chin. "All that freedom..." His fingertips move down Balthazar's neck, his chest, and lower. "I'd forgotten... how intoxicating that can be..."

Balthazar feels his heart rate quicken, breath turning shallow - instinctive, physical responses of a physical form. He closes his eyes and reviles in it.

"Yes..."

Gabriel's hand creeps over his stomach, fingers walking down the inside of his thigh and stroking back up.

"You know the first thing I learnt when I got out...?" Gabriel whispers, teasing.

Balthazar is so lost in sensation he can actually _feel_ himself struggle when his breath is held too long.

Slowly, so slowly, Gabriel inches further up, knuckles tickling against dark curls of hair. His lips part again at Balthazar's ear and he says,

"Patience."

He pulls back to sit on his haunches with more alluring, infuriating chuckles.

Balthazar groans, hips jerking up of their own accord, seeking a pressure still that little bit out of reach.

"I see," he breathes, dropping his head back against one of the headboard's metal twists, shoulders sagging. A couple of discordant clinks join the piano's ongoing melody as the cuffs too come to rest. "You want me to beg," Balthazar surmises under the black of still closed lids.

"Beg?" Gabriel repeats, an edge to his tone snapping Balthazar's eyes wide open. "Baby," his brother continues, mouth flicked up in one corner, eyes full of promise. "I'm gonna make you scream."

 

~*~

 

And he does. Repeatedly.

 

~*~

 

"Phewee!" Gabriel gasps when they're done, flopping onto his back over the crumpled sheets at Balthazar's side.

An oddly childlike expression, considering, but Balthazar's still in raptures enough to find it endearing, body humming with pleasures he's never even imagined until now, happy, for the moment, to abandon the ephemeral and confine himself to the luxury prison of flesh his vessel affords him.

"Damn, you're good," Gabriel enthuses, lighting warm embers of pride and surprise in Balthazar who, while keeping stride with the archangel throughout certainly, had considered himself a mostly passive aspect of the proceedings. "So _new_ and _fresh!_ "

Gabriel smirks at the ceiling, one hand cushioned behind his head, the other drumming an energised rhythm over the flushed skin of his chest. A rhythm that is quickly picked up and expanded upon by the ever-moving keys of the piano.

"After the first century or so things get samey, you know?" the archangel presses. "But not for you. _Everything's_ a thrill for you. Ha!" He slaps a hand over Balthazar's nearest thigh and squeezes. "Who'd have thought living vicariously could be such a rush? You're the fountain of youth, my friend!" Gabriel exclaims, twisting his head to grin at his... brother? partner? lover?

Balthazar has never thought to consider his sexual companions anything other than transitory and even dreams of Castiel have their endings. But this time is different. Gabriel is different. Less than an hour ago Balthazar wouldn't have thought it possible to co-exist so effortlessly with an archangel, and yet here they are. Perhaps it is not so impossible to imagine something more.

Then Gabriel continues and Balthazar's thoughts shatter to pieces.

"And to think I wasn't gonna bother with the sex," the archangel laughs, turning away. A split-second later he's up and fully clothed at the end of the bed.

"I'm sorry?" Balthazar says, the blood of his vessel that had been so warm and relaxed freezing in his veins, the chill of it spreading out from his heart and creeping quickly to his extremities like branching cracks in a lake of ice.

"Oh, don't be sweetheart," Gabriel smiles down at him. "You were delicious."

But the praise is distant. Detached.

Balthazar swallows back disappointment and shuffles into as upright a position as possible with his hands still tied. He rattles the cuffs and lifts his eyebrows, trying to remain composed.

"It's... time to release me, I think?" he tries.

Gabriel smirks. Then shakes his head.

"Nah. I like you right where you are. But hey, you've been such a good sport, you can have your threads back at least." His fingers snap and Balthazar's clothes knit into being around him. Gabriel's eyes follow every formation. "They look good on you, by the way." This comment sounds sincere, but Balthazar doesn't let himself trust it.

"Why are you here, really?" he asks, voice as icy as he feels.

Gabriel sobers.

"You have something of mine."

The music stops with the words and Gabriel turns and marches towards the piano, lifting the back wide open even as Balthazar shouts at him to stop. A glow of golden light washes over the archangel as he penetrates the warding inside, spotlighting Gabriel's parted lips - a circle of shock to match the spark of it in his eyes.

There's a second of silence, then Gabriel whistles, long and loud.

"And a lot else besides..." His eyes slide back to the bed. "Quite a stash you got here, Bal."

Balthazar doesn't know whether the pride in the words is mocking or genuine.

"That's all you came for? The weapons?"

"Just one."

Gabriel stretches a hand into the light and a twisted tube of metal rises into it. Once gleaming gold, it is now dented and tarnished, the curve of the bell dusty and chipped. If you didn't already know you'd be hard pressed to call it a horn, of any kind, let alone heavenly.

Satisfied with his prize, Gabriel clicks the piano lid back into place, concealing the rest of its treasures. He runs a finger over the horn's circular twist and shakes his head at the smear of grey left on his skin.

"Would you believe it?" he mutters. "Even lamer than I remember..." He rubs his finger and thumb together to remove the dust and barks out a dry laugh. "And of all the things the mythology gets right, it's _this?_ " He waggles the instrument in front of himself. "So Michael gets a _flaming sword_. Lucifer, he goes down in history as the world's most infamous, most _seductive_ spin-doctor -" He rolls his eyes. "- thanks a lot, Milton. And even Raphael gets some fame with that healing thing he's supposed to have going on. But me?" He thrusts the horn out, as though in offering. "All _I_ get is a damn trumpet?"

His hand drops, the horn's mouthpiece scraping his jeans, while his other arm comes up, palm flat in a stilling gesture. Like he's warding off words Balthazar has yet to even think, let alone give voice to.

"Yeah, okay, so it _is_ all I got. That and the mail. But I could have done more! Don't think I couldn't. Just because I'm the youngest. I could've been seductive. I could've... you know... led armies. If I wanted to..."

His head and other arm fall together and he takes the horn in both hands, twisting it idly, staring at it without seeing.

"I just never wanted to..."

A silence falls and Balthazar learns a new discomfort, not physical but emotional. An awkward, uneasy feeling that has him yearning both to be closer to his brother and wanting to fly far away. Because Gabriel is an _arch_ angel. And while archangels may be arrogant and thoughtless, rough and wild, they should not be _petulant_. They should not be _weak_. They are Heaven's most powerful weapon, the closest there is to god himself. Seeing one struggling with the same small, petty things Balthazar himself struggles with is both touching and deeply unpleasant.

Fortunately, before he has determined whether to attempt comfort or not, Gabriel continues.

"Kudos on finding this, by the way," he nods, shaking his despondency off and waving the trumpet in Balthazar's direction. "It must have taken some doing. I ditched it almost as soon as I got here. All it took was fifty years or so and I'd lost track of it completely. Hadn't heard a thing about it in forever. Until a couple of months ago when some muttonhead tried to play it."

His look turns to a reproachful glare.

"Nothing happened," Balthazar tells him, defensive.

"Of course not. It's _mine_. Won't do a damn thing for anyone else," Gabriel responds with a roll of his eyes, a dismissal that makes Balthazar angry, compassion burning up in an instant.

How was he to know how the thing worked? How any of the weapons did? The archangels have always been secretive about them, never trusting the lower ranks, thinking them too stupid or too expendable to bother with such knowledge. And he'd worked fucking hard gathering the weapons he had, learning how to extract their power! Who did Gabriel think he was belittling him for failing to use one he didn't even want?

"Well if you don't want it and I can't use it, why did you bother coming to find it?" Balthazar snaps. "And why the theatrics?" He rattles his bonds harshly. "If you knew where it was you could have taken it any time, without me even knowing."

Gabriel sucks in his lips and flicks his head in guilty kind of nod, a child with chocolate-stained fingers.

"Yeah, well," he shrugs. "I work better with an audience."

The words sound heavy, like a confession, and while Balthazar doesn't understand why, he feels somehow privileged to have heard them, the claws of his anger receding.

"And I came so I could do what I should have done in the first place," Gabriel adds, holding the horn before him, one hand at the bell and the other at the mouthpiece.

He stares at the instrument intently, as though cataloguing every part of it, its mass and weight and shape and colour. Then, very deliberately, he brings his hands together in a sharp clap, the metal crunching and crumbling between his palms until all that's left is a cascade of glinting shards that fall to Gabriel's feet as he brushes his hands free of them.

"I thought about it before," he says, nodding at the broken pieces, eyes lit with a bright, astonished kind of satisfaction. As though he's shocked as anyone at what he's done. "But figured I better leave it whole, just in case..." His gaze lifts, looking through Balthazar, just as the younger angel had looked at the youth in the bar, all the way inside him and beyond. "I was young, see. Arrogant. Naïve. I thought they couldn't possibly start an apocalypse without me. That they'd have to come looking, if they wanted to try. I thought -" He breaks off into dry laughter. "I thought I'd have the final say..."

He turns with a sigh and paces away.

"I didn't know. That's it's never worth it. That I wouldn't have a say at all."

Balthazar watches the soft light nudge the shadows on the back of his brother's neck as Gabriel drops his head and feels his anger and disappointment fall away.

"Because it doesn't matter what any of us do or say," Gabriel presses on, voice turning flat. The dull monotone of someone compelled to keep talking, to finish what they've started. Clear and resonant as a church bell. "It doesn't matter if we speak out, or run away. If we take a stand, or lock up the ringleaders, or steal their toys."

He waves a hand at the piano and a jolt of something sad and painful shudders though Balthazar, because he's never admitted, not even to himself, not fully, that stealing Heaven's weapons had been, in part, for that very reason. That he'd taken them not just for personal protection, but in the hope it would stop another war before it could start.

Of course he hasn't admitted it. The disappointment at such a failure would be too much. The further burdens he'd placed on Castiel's shoulders by attempting to free his brother from his duties too painful to think on. No. Gabriel is wrong to think that has anything to do with why he has the weapons...

Balthazar ignores his thoughts and focuses on the sorrowful shake of Gabriel's head.

"It doesn't matter. Because, fish gotta swim. And brothers gotta fight. That's just the way it's gotta be."

There's a long pause, soaking into the air like vapour in a cloud. Like the roll of the ocean at night, into black and looming cliffs.

"So that's why you left, why you're here," Balthazar breathes. Understanding. "You're running."

Gabriel turns a little, enough for Balthazar to see undulations down the throat of his vessel.

"Takes one to know one," the archangel mutters, twisting round. "So I'm told." His face is blank now, revealing nothing. But Balthazar doesn't need it to. He knows enough. "And the thing about running, Bal. Is that you can't do it forever. I learnt that the hard way..."

A hand strays to his chest and rubs there, like in the alley.

"Who said anything about forever?" Balthazar responds, and that brings Gabriel up short, lines on his brow stacking up. Balthazar smiles as his brother's gaze meets his, grabbing at the shift in control and holding on tight. "All good things come to an end, and all that. Doesn't mean you can't enjoy the ride."

It's slower this time, almost reluctant, but the corner of Gabriel's mouth quirks up again eventually. He nods.

"No, it doesn't" he agrees with the shadow of a chuckle. "Make it a good one, kid."

He turns, but Balthazar isn't ready for goodbye, not yet.

"There's plenty of room, you know!" he cries, drawing the archangel back. A quiet swish of feathers fills the room as Gabriel refolds the wings he'd been readying for flight. "I mean, I've only tried a group of eighteen so far, which wasn't uncomfortable at all I assure you, and I'm sure the place could fit more," Balthazar babbles, as if an outpouring of words might lasso the other where he physically can't. "And if not, there are other dwellings. A whole world of them. Certainly enough, for two. And running... it gets terribly droll on your own. I know..."

He trails off, hope rising up his throat like a physical thing, hard and painful. It's so strong he's forced to swallow it down, before it ruins his casual demeanour.

"What are you saying?" Gabriel asks, tilting his head. "You and me? Like, partners in crime? We'd, what? Bonnie-and-Clyde it across the world, snatching souls as we go until the authorities take us down?"

Balthazar lifts an eyebrow.

There's a beat, then Gabriel laughs, the playfulness that had so attracted Balthazar in the beginning returning.

"I could like you, Bal," the archangel grins, wagging a finger at him. "I really could... But dealing in souls isn't my style..." He sobers, turning still, although his eyes continue to gleam. "I know why you do it though. I do," he says. "And you're smart with it. Going after the kids. I get it. They're easy, and they're innocent. You think they'll be worth more. But here's a tip - they're not." All at once his expression turns dark, all traces of frivolity gone. "The second you make that deal, speak out that one little 'yes' that sells your soul away, all your innocence is gone, like that." His fingers move together in a familiar snap across his face, but faster and sharper than the gesture's predecessors. "You can't buy an innocent soul. It's impossible. Which makes a fresh-faced school kid's no better than an eighty-five year old murderer's, and god knows innocence is few and far between down here, sullying the few bits of good is a really, _really_ bad idea. Humanity has a lot of potential, you know, and I'm all behind that."

The chastisement comes as the latest in such a long line of surprises Balthazar hardly registers it, or Gabriel's apparent championing of the human race. As for himself, Balthazar hasn't dwelt much on mankind at all. As a species at least. As a means to an end he's found them quite marvellous. But if treating them differently were to guarantee Gabriel's companionship, well then, he might be persuaded.

Gabriel brings a hand to his jaw and starts to pace, expression softening as his fingers rub back and forth across his chin, eyes growing distant.

"Letting the douchebags barter their souls away, though, that might not be a bad thing..." he mutters under his breath, nodding to himself. "And I could set them up for it." His lips start to curve. "Oh, I could set them up real good. Gimme an hour or two and they'd be begging to deal..." He stops to suck his bottom lip. "Never tried it with a partner before..."

Gabriel spins round, arm stretching out in a point.

"Okay, tell you what," he states, decisive. Like a priest at mass, but with none of the reverence. "Catch me. And it's a deal."

"Catch you...?"

"Yeah," Gabriel nods vigorously, warming to the idea. "Call it a trial. You think you're smart enough to work with me? Prove it. Catch me!"

The excitement is contagious and Balthazar's grinning back before he knows it.

"You make it sound like a game," he notes.

"Isn't everything?"

_Isn't it indeed?_

"Alright," Balthazar smiles, answering the offer with the same pseudo-formality it was made in. "It's a deal."  
  
Despite the carefree nature of the exchange, there's a thrill when Gabriel's eyes move over him one last time.

"Good luck, then," Gabriel tells him, vanishing with a flutter and a chuckle.

 

~*~

 

Elated at the way events have transpired, mind awash with half-formed ideas on how to fulfil his end of the bargain, it's a while before Balthazar realises -

Gabriel has done nothing to free his bonds.

 

 

~ **fin** ~


End file.
